No Russian
by Banira
Summary: The American producers of the game had made the scene, 'No Russian' optional due to the disturbing nature of the graphic scene. Russia finds it all hard to stomach. In which America and Russia play Call of Duty Modern Warfare 2. Russia/America


**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters here, nor do I own Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2. I just play Call of Duty obsessively.**

**My unnatural obsession with Call of Duty led me to write this a while back, because the plot of the game seemed like it would fit so well for these two. I found it today and decided to finish it up. It's short, but it was fun. **

**Warning, there's some angst and language here. Also, it hasn't been beta'd so I apologize for any mistakes.  
**

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_No Russian_

"This is ridiculous."

Alfred rolled his eyes at the rather snide comment from his disgruntled companion next to him on the couch. Large calloused hands were gripping a harmless white controller, threatening to crack under the pressure. Violet eyes glanced cautiously at Alfred, almost incredulously because he hardly believed his _comrade_ would allow such a thing, and back to the offensive game on the screen. When the American had warned him about this part of the game, he didn't realize the graphic realism of the optional scene.

"I told you it would be bad," Alfred sighed a little, a twinge of guilt pricking at his stomach. To him it was just killin' some commies, the usual. Most of his people ignored the warning and went ahead with the mission without a flinch. Ivan was different. Although fictional, those were his people in theory.

Violent shots of the AK-47's rang out and repetitive screams filled the air. More fictional blood splattered against the walls and floors, and suddenly Ivan felt a little sick. America continued to spray bullets into the panicked civilians before glancing over, his finger faltering on the right trigger, and suddenly his gunfire had ceased. While he had been playing the mission, because this was like the billionth time, Ivan had clenched onto the controller and watched. Watched as his people died in this alternate universe.

The look on the Russian's face was so vulnerable, so unguarded and disturbed, that Alfred himself was shocked. Since when had the commie grown a heart? Or...since when had he let anyone see that he had one, rather. His throat felt a little dry as he licked the roof of his mouth in a sticky motion, "This...is really getting to you, huh?"

Whatever trance of thoughts and memories Ivan had been consumed in before vanished at Alfred's interruption. His eyelids fluttered a little, feeling a slight sting from staring at the screen far too long. Slowly, he shook his head and reminded himself that this was fakefakefake, not going to happen, not again. "I am fine, sunflower," he said with a weak smile, too plastered and anxious to get past Alfred but well practiced and composed enough to fool anyone else.

He was not fine, honestly. This silly game, not for children as Alfred had feverently expressed-now he knew why, had tugged on a certain heartstring still in the process of a makeshift recovery. This wasn't the first war game with guns and fire and smoke and chaos that he had been coerced into playing. However, this was the first that his people had been slaughtered. The blood on those tiles might as well been his own. The bullets lodged in their flesh and skulls might as well have passed through his own. The screams and unadulterated terror echoed in his ears and tore a sick twist through his stomach. He couldn't stand to watch.

The American producers of the game had made the scene, 'No Russian' optional due to the disturbing nature of the graphic scene. The player would choose at the beginning whether to go on with it or preserve their peace of mind. Of course, if the scene was skipped, it would not interrupt the storyline terribly, as Alfred had explained before starting. Now Ivan wished he had been brave enough to say no, not foolish enough to say yes.

"We can stop if you want," Alfred rubbed the back of his neck nervously. The leather seats seemed to be sticking to his clothes anxiously, humidly attaching itself. He wished Ivan would get mad, upset with him for the monstrosity of the idea. Instead he sat there quietly. And that was the scarier of the two by far. He had no way of knowing what was going on in his head. No indication of what he was thinking or feeling, and that scared him.

"Why did they do this again?" Ivan asked with a frightening amount of composure. His eyes fixated onto the men on the screen, loading onto some truck or he didn't know what it was, but the American was just shot. It didn't make any sense anymore, not that it had made any sense in the first place.

He felt Alfred shift his weight slightly, a little more onto him. Before it had been a casual brush of shoulders, a comfortable tiny affection. But now it was more supportive, more obvious and intimate. His eyes stole a glance and all he could see was golden sunflower, and his panic softened just slightly. A quick inhale filled his senses with a sharp scent of whatever body wash and cologne that Alfred used (it was the name of a weapon, he remembered), and an earthy scent that was warm and so Alfred.

"'Cause the Russian terrorist group," he supplied weakfully, "see that guy who was just shot, yea, the American was spying on the terrorists and now they killed him so it looked like the Americans came and killed everyone." His words trailed off, realizing the weight that his explanation had. What if this had been real?

"And they kill my people, the innocent ones, and war is started, da?"

Alfred couldn't tell if that was pain or anger in his voice.

The screen faded to another cut scene of a computer animation and a voice narrating. The controller Alfred was holding was abandoned to the coffee table with a clank, the game being temporarily forgotten. Ivan was in his own world right now, staring straight ahead with glossed over violet. A world without Alfred. Alfred felt a panicked buzz at the thought. No, there can't be a world with Ivan and no Alfred. He had to be there, the center, he couldn't be left behind. They had a family, they hated each other, they loved each other, they needed each other. Alfred forgot to breathe a moment. Ivan couldn't leave him nonononononononon-

"подсолнечник."

Alfred looked up with a startled jump to see Ivan looking at him, the controller loosely held in his lap. He laughed sheepishly and tried not meet his gaze. Ivan's eyes were almost unreadable. "I...uh we'll take a break from the game."

Ivan's eyes scanned over the features of the his face, tracing every nervously tense muscle. He had scared him, he thought with inward amusement, and smiled, "But we have not reached the burning of Washington DC yet, da?" The tone in his voice was playful, as if to ward off the uncomfortable atmosphere and say that it was okay to go back to normal now.

Alfred's face lit up angrily, and he immediately punched his shoulder, "Fucking commie!" He looked away and crossed his arms with a tilt of his head, as if to hide the flush. But he was secretly glad that he wasn't silent anymore. He was acting normal again.

"And you are greedy capitalist pig. Just putting in careless gore wherever you like to make money," Ivan hummed with a smirk. This way he could push aside the threat of reality. Besides teasing little America never got old.

Said little America looked back at him to glare, "Maybe people just like killing commies!" He snatched up the controller again and proceeded to get as little to close to Ivan's face, a wild challenge in his eyes. Ivan got a distinct feeling from that spark that it was not just directed towards the game, and returned the expression with an all too smug smirk.

"Or maybe you want to be invaded?"

America blinked and blurted out a graceful, "The fuck?" With little time to register what was going on, Alfred was on his back, painfully pressed against the arm of the couch with an oversized Russian looming over him. The dark light in those violet eyes were never a good sign, and Alfred felt the hair on his neck stick up excitingly as Ivan moved in closer. He was a hero, not a victim, and so he could push the commie of anytime he wanted. That's right, he was just _letting_ him. Not because he wanted it or anything.

The Russian accent became more prominent as his voice dropped lower, "You make these silly games with me invading your country and war. You could have just said so if you wanted it."

If not for the slight—miniscule, something only Alfred could pick up on—hint of teasing in Ivan's expression, he would have been terrified that they were back in the Cold War. And vaguely, he remembered something akin to the current situation with a lot less play and a lot more force. And teeth.

Alfred then felt a finger, not gloved this time due to the previous controller requiring a lack of covering on his hands. It ran down the angle of his jaw, and the nail bit in just a little as he scraped down his throat.

The blond took a sharp intake of breath, not knowing to be more excited by this, or slightly concerned. Before he had a chance to make his decision, the weight was lifted from him and he heard a low chuckle. Mindfuck bastard. Grumbling, he sat up and glared at the Russian now fondling the controller.

He looked almost proud of himself, as if he won something. Or had a brilliant idea. It better be brilliant, because things were getting pretty damn exciting just a second ago and Alfred wasn't so sure that he would put up with his commie mind teasing anymore.

"Hm, perhaps DC can wait. I now remember something about a ….ahh…kill reward," he was promptly corrected that it's a '_killstreak'_, "Nuclear bomb?"

Alfred's ears perked up at the word and a smirk curled on his lips. One on one, and a chance to finally nuke that bastard after all this time. Granted, not exactly conventional, but less messy and starting another war just so he could nuke something was just so much work.

Ivan sent him a pointed look before finally adding, "And whoever is nuked will be the one to be…_invaded _later, da?" Oh, the challenge was already sending shivers down his heroic spine.

"Bring it, commie."

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**Notes:**

**-The Russian version of the game apparently took out the mission 'No Russian' for obvious reasons. **

**-A 25 kill streak in multiplayer earns you a nuke that ends the game with a victory for your team. And I can just picture these two having an obsession with nukes after the Cold War~  
**

**I'll admit, I saw a review of Black Ops today that pointed out that Call of Duty is just an outlet for America's secret desire to be invaded. My mind immediately thought Hetalia. I have a World at War Zombies story that I'm going to finish, but Black Ops may inspire something too.  
**


End file.
